The fundamental logic of customer acquisition mail is like starting my snowblower this morning. Gas up, pull out the choke, prime the cylinder and yank the cord. After a moment’s belch of smoke, I can turn off the choke, and the machine settles into a nice, steady RPM.

In direct mail, the sales funnel is a similar process: first overwhelm your prospect, at some expense, then convert them to a repeat with a follow up, and then funnel them into a steady revenue stream.

So I have kept track of my personal response funnel with a few regulars.

Arbor Day will reforest my yard, many times over.

Arbor Day
They are looking for a conversion. Last time I wrote, I reported to you that I had giddily responded to their acquisition piece, ordering 10 spruce trees, and 2 lilacs, with the hope of getting a year’s supply of coffee beans. Well, the coffee beans got me, but I didn’t get them. However, I did get a follow-up mailing, profusely thanking me for the spruce and lilac order. In this mailing they furnish a colorful mail order tree catalog, a newsletter, member card and a free red maple tree with my order.
The tree is 3-4 feet high.
I haven’t the heart to explain I have 17 trees on the lot now. I am still wondering where to put the spruces and lilacs.

Paralyzed Vets sees me bagging my groceries at attention.

Paralyzed Veterans of America
This should be a win back. I haven’t responded to them in the last few years, so they are gracing me with a patriotic tote bag. Actually, they have forgotten who I am, or was, and are introducing themselves. This is a gap in their database. The tote is enclosed, shrink-wrapped.

American Legion’s zip strip. A lesson here: it tears best when with, not across the grain of the paper envelope.

American Legion
This is a win back, delivered as a questionnaire. It comes in a large orange flat, 10″ x 13″, opens with a ‘zip strip’ and presents a set of rhetorical opinion questions which are, as designed, hard to say ‘no’ to. I haven’t given to the Legion in a couple of years. The labels they offer as a freemium unfortunately misspell my name.

A modest, business-like presentation from the VFW. The solar calculator works to 7 decimal places.

Veterans of Foreign Wars
This is a conversion kit, and I am flattered that they have already made me a Gold Circle member. I don’t think I quite deserve that. However, they do, and have sent me a 12″ x 14-1/2″ flat containing a monogrammed desktop calculator, pen and notepad. The calculator works, and my traditional test is ‘PI‘, 22/7 = 3.1428571 which goes to the 7th decimal place. With PI, that’s far enough. They optimistically ask our mailman to deliver to our front door. Good luck with that!

DVNA equips my office with everything but a lawyer.

Disabled Veterans National Foundation
This 12″ x 14-1/2″ faux kraft flat is like a postal trunk sale. It is an acquisition piece. Inside I get the motherlode: a pocket calculator in its own wallet–goes to the 7th decimal place– two pens, a monogrammed 15 month calendar, with silver-edged pages, three greeting cards and envelopes, and a check made out to me drawn on the Bank of America for $2.50. I am verklempt.

DAV’s renewal kit bespeaks lower cost. They have me now.

Disabled American Veterans
This is a renewal notice to the DAV’s Commanders Club. A kraft #9 stuffed with a member card, a small note pad, some tastefully designed stickers, a prayer card, and a certificate stating I am an Illinois Silver member. The preferred ‘ask’ is $50. This kit is confidently on cruise control.

Father Flanagan’s “Acknowledgement”: I envision Spencer Tracy suggesting I try a little harder.

Father Flanagan’s Boys Home “Boystown”
This 8-1/2″ x 12″ kit is as thick as a breadboard. It is not an acquisition piece, because I am a repeat donor, so I put it up to their attempts to get a bigger gift from me, like $60. They send along a wall calendar of the cosiest Sam Trimm bird paintings I have ever witnessed, plus a 30-page puzzle book–21 games, answers on the back page–, a pocket calendar, a one-page, at-a-glance calendar, a 16-page daily planner, a Certificate of Acknowledgement–which I don’t want to over analyze, but I think it really means ‘you can do better’– a second 2018 calendar, with a personalized street sign, two sheets of address stickers, and of course, a letter displaying some gift certificates worth $60 that I should fund.

My Aunt Betty would have liked these.

Father Flanagan..Again
I did not respond quickly enough to the kit above, so Father Flanagan sent me a 6 x 9 reminder stuffed with blank greeting cards. I should point out to the folks at Boystown that these cards are pretty close to what my sadly belated great aunt would have mailed upon occasion, rest her soul. They have hearts, flowers, birds, and butterflies. Again, I should not over-think this, but it’s possible Father F believes I am my aunt.

Lakota designed hosiery. We all need socks.

St Joseph’s Indian School
I have difficulty thinking I am not a “renewal” with these folks. But darn it, they are still working me up with a shiny, red-foiled, hard sell on a ‘triple-up’ mailing. An anonymous benefactor will triple my gift. They would like $25 which will balloon to $75. While this is reminiscent of the stock market, up until last Monday, I am even more impressed by the very snazzy pair of socks which they have included for me. Many may have lost their shirt on the Dow Jones this week, but by golly, I have my socks.

I have to return to snow blowing. My feet are warm.

Thanks for reading! If you are interested in these organizations, especially their financial efficiency and clarity, you can check them out at Charity Navigator, Give.org or at their website:

It’s not a secret any more that I enjoy reading direct mail. Not much of a life, you might suggest. Still, it guarantees a walk to the mailbox everyday, and a chat with our favorite USPS mail carrier.

My current discovery revolves around the offer I could not refuse, straight from the Arbor Day Foundation.

These good folks in Nebraska City, Nebraska are on a mission to blanket the country in a thick, variegated quilt of forests. So when they selected me to represent a small portion of the people in Illinois, I was hard pressed to decline.

Why?

Premiums often trump the original product offer for appeal.

It is a fact that in many successful direct mail offers, it is not the product that gets the sale, but the premiums which come along with good behavior. Good behavior in this case is responding quickly, and munificently. In other words, pay up, fast.

The survey is a powerful engagement device, selling all the way.

In return for my promptness, albeit somewhat stingy in retrospect, I might receive Arbor Day’s special rainforest, cool-shade-grown coffee for a year. Wow! I am supporting Starbucks right now, but I can be swayed.

It was with this initial buzz on my coffee nodes that I rushed to complete the Arbor Day Tree Survey, carelessly pushing aside any concerns about what would happen next.

The Arbor Day Tree Survey for Illinois is an excellent example of powerful sales rhetoric.

It helps that I am a tree lover. We live on a third of an acre, and have 17 trees. I feel rich, and enjoy the annual blooms, the blossoms, the pollen, the seed drops, and the mounds of leaves I rake.

Arbor Day is celebrated nation-wide, thanks to the Foundation’s efforts.

I think the survey deftly gets all the right answers from me. It lulls me into a positive frame of mind. I race through the harmless queries.

They ask, ‘have you ever climbed a tree?…when you were a child, did you ever play under or amongst the trees?… did you ever collect leaves, acorns, or pine cones for a school project–or just for fun?’

These questions are softballs, and I hit them all out of the park. “Yes! I climbed a tree! I lived in a tree!…I built a small condominium in a tree!..Yes! I played under a giant Beech as a child!…Yes! I just finished a vast collection of leaves with my grandson! Yes! Yes! I did all of that!”

Sophie’s Choice: pick one. But how?

These are soothing thoughts. For a moment, I slip into a gauzy reminiscence of TV’s defense lawyer Ben Matlock, asking woodsy questions in his unassuming, folksy manner.

But that reverie is smoothly swept aside by a troubling vision of Patrick Jane, the thoughtful, boyish, enigmatic Citroen-driving sleuth in CBS’s TV show, “The Mentalist”.

The questionnaire asks, ‘Which ONE of the following is the single most important function of trees: Providing shade? Providing oxygen? Being a source of beauty? Absorbing carbon dioxide? Filtering water? Saving energy by cooling our homes? Providing habitats for birds and animals?’

Like, how to choose? This is some kind of arboreal Sophie’s Choice, with the bark left off.

The motherlode of premiums: plant your own forest!

Really, the questionnaire does focus the reader to the countless benefits provided by a our forests, here and around the world. So kudos to Arbor Day for the survey approach. It segue’s to some opinion questions, and then asks for a donation which opens the gates for premiums. Big premiums.

Because I have asked for them, I will be receiving 10 Norway Spruce Trees, 2 Fragrant Purple Lilacs, a copy of The Tree Book, and a Rainforest Rescue Calendar.

And the coffee, for a year, I hope.

It turns out that the coffee offer is part of a sweepstakes. The fine print is found on the inside of the envelope. 500+ words in 10-point sans serif type, arranged in block paragraphs with no indents. My hopes of those rainforest-cool-shaded coffee beans are evaporating like dew drops on a hot car hood in July.

The 10 x 14 envelope costs extra, but its impact, complete with faux label does the job: it gets opened.

Speaking of envelopes however… I do applaud the package. It measured 10×14 inches, for no good reason other than to dominate the mail box, and to get my attention. It was printed to look like brown kraft. A knockout on the face presents the image of a label, but looking closely I find it is a varnish over the original white stock, masterfully done. This kit looks impressive, official, and urgent.

The power of data-driven variable imaging: customization.

Inside, there is a personalized letter, and it has a personal note referring to the spruce trees, just right for Libertyville, IL.

Alongside, I find a set of address labels, which are pretty much table stakes in fundraising, but they are optimistically entitled, “Arbor Day Foundation, 2018 Supporter”. That must be me! Their 2018 calendar further alerts me to Illinois’ Arbor Day being April 27th.

The mandatory address labels of fundraising, but tastefully designed.

So, I wait. The trees are coming next spring. The book and calendar, who knows? The coffee, fearfully a long shot. What I do know is that with every delivery, there will be a further prodding and arm-twisting for a gift.

While I am desperately trying to find a place to plant those trees, I’ll give it a thought.

It may be a function of age, but we receive a fair share of fundraising direct mail. Occasionally we get kits that amaze us for their content, with the underlying question, how can this possibly make money?

St. Joseph’s Indian School uses a donor acquisition package that pushes the boundaries, but based on their frequent use, this kit makes money. But it still amazes.

A personalized lift note accompanies the letter.

The key to powerful direct mail is rolled up in this slogan: List-Offer-Format-Copy. You can figure it out. But a subset of “Format” is fundamental to understanding good design: Size-Cards-Labels-Diecuts-Personalization.

Take a look at St. Joe’s and how they go beyond the formula.

The 9×9-1/2 Flat kit is hard to ignore.

Size
The envelope is 9×9-1/2. No wait, it’s not an envelope. It’s more like a bag, a catch all, and it’s a half inch thick. Not normal! Right away, we are talking a Flat, not a letter. Odds are it weighs more than 3.3 ounces, so no kidding, this is a small trunk in the donor’s mailbox. Despite its bulkiness, it is still machinable, but I’ll bet the USPS would love to be rid of this mini-parcel bouncing through their multi-million dollar sorters. Remember, in direct mail, size counts.

The calendar is one of 8 personalized pieces.

The perfed donor form highlights what your donation will buy.

Cards
Many successful kits provide a card. It’s personalized, perhaps laminated or plasticized, embossed, and maybe delivered in pairs. Very common in retail, insurance, service and association mailings, cards convey belonging and entitlement. While St. Joe’s doesn’t have a card per se, they do include personalized memorabilia like calendar cards, and gift certificates.

27 address stickers, enough for every utensil in the kitchen drawer.

Labels
Do we have enough address labels? Maybe, maybe not. Until you have labeled all your electronic gear, computers, cell phones, 14 golf clubs, CDs, Vinyl, USBs, chargers, staplers, umbrellas, Christmas cards, 3-hole punch and entire library of Clive Cussler books on loan, you aren’t done. And beside labels, anything that is pressure sensitive, like Post-it notes, velcro and magnets counts as an involvement device that draws your reader in a tactile way to your mailing. St. Joe’s goes over the top to provide stickers and labels for the donor, their children and the next door neighbor’s cat.

Mood aubergine: more labels for every occasion.

Die-Cuts
Really a technical obsession for printers and origami artists, the die-cut is a subtle paper carving that uses perforations, kiss-cuts, windows and trimming to create a 3-dimensional or engineered aspect to your kit. The recipient will work those die-cuts intuitively, without thinking, to unfold and self administer a little presentation for their personal viewing. Again die-cuts precipitate movement and finger work, which is involving your reader.

The Post-it note doubles down on the ask.

Personalization
St. Joe’s knows how to attract the eye, and that starts with calling out to the reader repeatedly. 8 times in fact. Envelope, letter, donor form, certificates, address labels, stickers, calendar, lift note…no matter your persuasion, it is hard to casually throw out a piece of paper that has your name on it.

I offer an additional element that may trump the 5 attributes above–

A 24-page calendar with original art makes this kit indispensible.

Indispensibility
Above and beyond the formula I gave you, the appeal of the St. Joe’s piece is that you just can’t throw it out. Why? Because in addition to all of the features, the envelope is packed with gifts, and useful items: three shrunk-wrapped greeting cards, a note pad, a 24-page calendar with art, the stickers or course, and the piece de resistance: the Dream Catcher. Not to mention the 3 penny stamps affixed to the reply envelope. Almost impossible to throw in the bin…just can’t do it. Arrrgh!

So there you have a fully loaded kit. But can it pay for itself?

The first rule of fundraising: donors don’t come free. So management knows they must develop their donor files, which is what this kit is for.

The note pad’s backer explains the mission and prayer of the Lakota community.

It’s a bit of a guess, but based on a nickel a page, this kit probably cost around $2.50 to print and assemble, plus the Dream Catcher…, maybe $3.00. Postage will be around 50-55 cents, based on a 6.4 ounce kit, automation rate, non profit. Add in the lists, freight and data processing and it has to be $4.00 a kit.

Wow! “Who has that kind of money?” fret the accountants, and by the way, a lot of donors, too.

But here’s the thing, because of its impact, its stopping power, this piece could have a 5-8% response rate. Let’s say 7%.

Three tastefully designed greeting cards, individually wrapped, are an extra push for donation.

Then $4.00/7% = $57.00 cost per response. And what is the average gift? They are asking between $8-$70. Again say it’s $30. So the net cost is $27 to get a new donor. That donor will have a longstanding, profitable relationship with St. Joe’s and looking at the financial statement, there is about a 10% chance that the donor may make a final bequest in their will to the organization.

This may seem higher than some of the nation’s largest, more well known non-profits. But keep in mind that those have strong, pervasive brands, high impact causes like hurricanes and disease, and oodles of corporate in-kind support, too.

The convolution of three events today raised my antenna that there is a superior organizing force out there that is directing our path as we hurtle through space.

As I was cleaning off our bookshelf, a small battery dropped to the desk. These are the tiny nickel-cadmium dots that we find in cameras and calculators. Not the larger lithium incendiary bombs that we have in our laptops and hover boards.

The calculator that failed to light up.

The battery was all that was left of a calculator I tried to resuscitate a few months ago. When the machine didn’t light up, I undid about 9 tiny screws to retrieve the battery. As I popped off the back, the entire calculator sprung into a hundred pieces of keys, buttons and circuit board. Incalculable. I saved the battery to take into the hardware store for a replacement, just in case the calculator could be reassembled.

The next thing that happened was while emptying out the washing machine, we discovered that I had left my Moleskine diary in my shirt pocket. We retrieved the diary cover, very soggy, and found the rest of its contents spread like a million flakes of oatmeal over all our clothes. So much for keeping notes on paper.

A misadventure, attempting to extract the battery for replacement.

As the morning progressed, Lonny the mailman came by, and stuffed our mailbox with lots of missives from people we don’t know, but asking for money. The largest piece in the delivery was a giant, lumpy, shiny, pebbled envelope from Disabled Veterans National Foundation.

The DVNF package was an exceptional “Flat”: 12″ x 15″. So huge that all the other mail was folded in with it.

In direct mail, size counts. So I opened it immediately to find, mirabile dictu––another calculator! And—- another diary! Wow. I am completed.

The Mystery of Fundraising By Mail

After admitting that the USPS may be a supernatural force, most would ponder the imponderable: how does DVNF get away with sending out calculators, books and notepads, and expect to earn any money for their cause?

A “max flat” the 12 x 15 kit is shiny, pebbled and lumpy. It was folded to fit the mailbox.

That, dear reader, is one of the great mysteries of direct mail fundraising, and one that I will unravel for you now. All you need to know is what the package really costs, response rate and average dollar gift amount.

To calculate the cost, I first took the kit down to the USPS post office for an official weighing. Ranjit asked with a jaded smile on his face, “Why? Do you intend to sue them?”

“No. I want to calculate their postage, and how much this whole thing cost in the mail.”

Ranjit replied, “It’s non-profit, but don’t kid yourself, they are making money.”

I pulled out the new calculator and said, “Look at this! That’s gotta cost a buck anyway…”

I stared at him as I pondered that number. At the same time Ranjit extended his arm across the counter to flash a beautiful bejeweled wristwatch, sparkling in buttons, numbers, dials, and a bright yellow face. “How much do you think this cost?” He smiled.

“Uh, I don’t know. Ten bucks? A nickel? 79 cents?”

“Close. It cost me $2 dollars. Made in China. I bought 5 for $10 bucks, each a different color, for every day at work.”

Smitten with this new-found knowledge of international commerce, I bid him a good day and took my 20-cent calculator back to the car.

The whole mail kit, which included the calculator, the notebook, DVNF pen and some letters and envelopes weighed 9.1 ounces. According to the USPS, this Flat was part of a 3-digit automation scheme, so I estimate the non-profit postage was about $0.59 a piece.

This pocket diary replaced the soggy Moleskine in a nick of time.

The envelope was made in China, as was the notebook. Without asking, one can only guess that the components all assembled, shipping included, must have cost around $2 dollars. Add another 50 cents for the 5-way match on name (envelope, calculator, notebook, donor form and notepad) and you have a kit that surely cost over $3 dollars to put in the mail.

And Now, Using The New Calculator:

That’s $3,000/m for you printers out there keeping score.

The donor form offers a $2.50 check as a tempting diversion. But they want $15-$25. Go figure.

When most mail kits ring in around $0.35 cents each, $3 dollars is a hefty challenge. In their calculations DVNF finds a breakeven point by dividing the total cost of the kit by the average gift amount. Looking at their donor card, they suggest a gift of $15-$25. Taking the lower end, their breakeven response is $3/$15 = 20% response. At the higher end, 12% response.

For this package, that translates to $3/.71 = $4.23 raised for every piece mailed.

If their average gift is $15, then their response rate would be $4.23/$15 = 28.2%.

And at $25, the response is 16.9%.

There’s no way to be certain, and DVNF is unlikely to share their response results. But the package itself is a donor acquisition kit. That is, a high pressure sales pitch to get a new donor. If indeed it did generate a 28.2% response rate, with a gift of $15, the cost per new donor is: ($4.23-$3.00)/28.2% = $4.36, which is pretty darn good, if not downright incredible.

It also follows that every new donor will be repeatedly contacted for further donations, which over time, leads to a real surplus, destined for program expenses that support the disabled veterans.

Thanks for grinding through these numbers with me! Please note that Disabled Veterans National Foundation should not be confused with Disabled American Veterans.

Like this:

Why is it that fundraisers can’t write a note, or pick up the phone and just say what’s on their minds?

Why do they have to float it out there, like smoke, or a bad itch, on Facebook or Twitter?

It brings to mind a lesson from long ago.

As a kid of 10 years old, in Delhi, my hometown, ice and skates were intended for hockey. You know you live in a hockey town when the rink is reserved every morning and night for guys loaded down with potato sacks of gear and sticks.

Anyway. I didn’t play hockey. I was in the figure skating club which was a popular girls’ sport. Not so much for boys, but there you have it.

Every year our figure skating club hosted an ice carnival. This is a 2-hour show where the whole town comes to watch this costume extravaganza on ice, down at the rink. Little squads of 7-year-old Sugar Plum Fairies skoot out in a circle and pirouette. Flocks of Skunks wobble on tiny skates across the ice while the town band plays “The Baby Elephant Walk”.

The senior girls kick line does a bouncy number to a Gypsy tune and the crowds roar their appreciation. The whole time the blue and the red lines plus 5 face off spots map the ice for us.

The crowds are there because they bought tickets. $3.00 for an adult, $1.00 per child.

Those tickets are sold because we figure skaters were told to go sell the tickets. Which brings me to the current point in a round about way. I hated selling tickets…scary and embarrassing, knocking on doors, asking people to hand over money for a non-hockey event on ice.

This was an annual debate between me and my parents:

“Why do I have to sell tickets? Why can’t people just go to the booth and get them?”

“Because you need to learn to ask .”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, you need to learn to ask people face-to-face for things that you need. We need to sell those tickets. It’s for the figure skating club. Most important, the audience wants to know who they are giving their money to. This is business. You are the connection. So get out there, and ask them to buy the tickets. Now.”

Today, with the power and saturation of the internet we can sell anything we want online. More significantly, we don’t have to ask, beg, beseech, or grovel before anyone particularly. It’s a non-contact vocation. We can just float an open invitation out there, and see who bites on it.

Skywriting comes to mind.

If our follower numbers are big enough, we might get all we need without a repeat advertisement. If not, the public plea is repeated, with urgency, and perhaps a shade of disappointment hidden between the lines.

The shame of this online power is that there is no need to commit, or worse yet, make a plea or promise in return to any one. Just as bad, the buyer or donor doesn’t get any nod or recognition for rising to the occasion. If they’re lucky, the online gifting site says “Thanks– your receipt is being emailed.” And that’s about it.

So I am all for charitable giving. And any time someone just asks me, I am happy–no, delighted– to give. Charitable giving is a way for someone to participate and to help, and most importantly, the giver is thankful for being invited. That was my lesson from home.

Whether it was my donation to a certain political party that flagged my name, or perhaps a popular consumer magazine subscription, the ensuing barrage of fundraising mail from veterans’ associations is non-stop in our mailbox.

Regardless, the creative pitches are stunners, and deserve a closer look. You are hereby invited to read my mail!

Most of these charities are profiled and rated on Charity Navigator.org, which strips away the emotion to detail actual performance against their stated missions.

Turnkey Office

As big as a door mat, and packed, too.

The Disabled Veterans National Foundation takes overwhelming force to a new level with their glossy, Flat-sized embossed package. Despite the red-stenciled “DO NOT FOLD” our faithful USPS carrier did just that to get it in the mailbox. It measures 12 x 15, and according to the weigh scales at our grocer’s fish counter, weighs 13.4 ounces. If that seems heavy to you, perhaps we have been paying too much for our halibut.

The field ready office with solar powered personalized calculator and stationery.

Inside this doormat-sized kit is a desk pad, calculator, calendar book and ball point pen. Along with this prefab office kit is a $2.50 check drawn on a Bank of America account. Surely a mistake, it is signed, dated and made out to me. In the enclosed letter, the writer, smitten with remorse, asks me to return the check.

Check mailings are iffy because in many cases the marketer needs to have funds held in escrow to honor the checks if, fates forbid, the recipients decide to take the money.

“Made in China”–The disturbing bug that must be shown.

This kit ain’t cheap. Postage alone is nearly a dollar, and considering the hand-applied “Philip Brown” label on the calculator, plus its die-cut and tensor-ribboned place mat, the overall cost has to be at least $4-$5 dollars each.

Which may explain why the kit was made in China– not an encouraging signal for U.S Veterans. I wait to see if they will send me a typewriter next year.

Parade-Ready Flag

Steel plate reveal: your own desk ready Stars & Stripes.

Wounded Warrior Project also approached us with a package, a 5 x 10 windowed boxlet displaying a real flag inside. This Army-green imitation steel-plated ammo box is nearly half an inch thick, so it’s non-automation all the way..40-45 cents to mail. The flag is intricately folded into a die-cut foam holder that also holds the addressed donor form, a hand-assembled product for sure… which explains again, why it was made in China. In the mail, $1-$1.50 each.

We’ll talk about cost/response in a minute.

Photo Wallet

A photo wallet… a hard to discard gift.

Wounded Warrior Project also sent along a separate request which included a 4×6, 20-page photo wallet. Inside a regular 6 x 9 envelope, this gift actually made immediate sense, and the wallet now holds images of our ridiculously brilliant, and beautiful grandchildren. Not being one to take anything for granted, we will reward WWP for the effort. Still, with postage, in-the-mail cost is 40-50 cents each.

Calling Cards

Ersatz calling cards stuck in place to get the letter opened.

Help Our Wounded, and Armed Forces Aid Campaign have learned how to affix 3 plastic phone cards to a page. Technologically, this is pretty cool, if not done by hand. The cards are stuck on top of each other and appear jumbled through the large glassine window….as if they were thrown in quickly, sealed and run off to catch the 3 o’clock mail. The impact, especially for the uninitiated such as me, is strong. Their job is to get the envelope opened, and indeed, the ploy works. Help Our Wounded, aka Healing American Heroes is not found on Charity Navigator. My bet is the mailing costs 50-60 cents all-in.

Going For Our Stronger Feminine Side

A pretty package with writing in mind. This one’s for Gramma.

Disabled American Veterans is the senior classman in veteran’s charities. Despite that, they have assigned a female status to my record, so I receive kits that reflect more genteel tastes than one might expect. Putting the gender bias aside, especially in North Carolina, this kit is in keeping with DAV’s efforts to send along quality gifts.

I can’t use any of this one, which is resplendent in lavender-hued Forget Me Nots. Still, if I was desperate, making a struggling attempt to write to my passed on mother, or to scratch out a hasty last will and testament, I have notepad, and mauve colored, simulated vellum sheets for assigning my debts to chosen in-laws.

The kit is tasteful, if gender specific, and is certainly an eye opener. DAV also uses real stamps on the reply envelope. While the accountants may come unhinged at this largesse, DAV’s frequent use of the costly stamps is proof that the presumptuous gesture works in bringing in more donations.

One wonders how many codgers will steam off the stamps, versus cross out DAV’s return address and use the envelope to pay their water bill instead.

All in, this piece must tip the scales at $2.00 in the mail. But it works.

Subtle and Cautious

Creative use of stamps–just enough to impress, but maybe a challenge for the USPS accountants.

The USO is the most conservative kit to ask us for a donation, and that is in return for a genuine Stars & Stripes Flag plus good feelings. I included this under-played kit because of their creative use of postage.

Non-profit letters get a privileged postal rate, somewhere between 8-18 cents depending upon address density and automation compatibility. USO chose to affix 5-cents worth of stamps to their outer envelope, and to use their postmark (#440) to make up the difference at the counter.

Their reply envelope reveals their cautionary approach to wasting postage money. Rather than place the full 49 cents on the envelope, like DAV, they are willing to go for 5 cents, but left the Business Reply Mail (bill us) indicia in the corner.

We guess that this itsy-bitsy effort will drive the postal accountants nuts.

In the mail cost: 40 cents, tops.

Drop Another Nickel

Just when you thought the nickel was yours, they want it back.

Paralyzed Veterans of America is one of several charities which has a conveyor belt from the US Mint to their mail room wherein millions of shiny new nickels are deposited on glossy label stock letters.

Just yesterday we discussed at lunch how many of us keep the nickel, which after all, adds up when everyone is mailing them, March Of Dimes excluded.

PVA’s piece is a max-sized letter, 5 x 11-1/2. This is a smart move because the postage is the same large or small, so you might as well get the most paper into the package that you can for the same price. However, nickel-enhanced gold foil labels are heavy, so the rule is to keep below 3.3 ounces or the rate goes through the roof. $1.25-$1.50 in the mail.

Did You Get Our Card?

Flowers, fuzzy puppies and kind sentiments… a happy birthday for some one.

The Veterans of Foreign Wars by comparison uses a tiny 3-3/4 x 7-1/2 envelope, aka a “Monarch” to ask the nagging question, “Did your special edition birthday cards arrive?” Somewhat reminiscent of the neighbor’s kid who knocks on our door to sell Christmas wrap. We still have six rolls from last year.

Well, yes, the cards did arrive. I am sorry, but so far I have not found a suitable target for them which are best described as lovely and softly sweet. My Mom might have liked one, but not from me. Again, these are estrogen-energized, and if I get my hands on the person who tagged me as female, I am going to scratch their eyes out.

A simple little kit, probably 40-cents in the mail, at most.

How Do They Make Any Money?

As you can see, these kits range in cost from 40 cents to perhaps $5 each all-in. Can a non-profit actually make a profit from these mailings? Check the Charity Navigator for details. You will be enlightened.

But realistically, the acquisition of a brand new donor will always be at a loss. The strategy is to keep that donor giving for a long time afterwards, hopefully with a final bequest of planned gift when they pass on.

“How the @#$%^%$$ will we ever make this work?”

For the accountancy gene in you however, rest assured that every fundraiser has a donor acquisition cost they won’t exceed. This is the anchor point in a campaign. To respect that restriction, a good forecast on the cost of a response is to divide the piece-cost by the expected response rate.

For instance, a piece costs $2.00 in the mail. This is big money, and the accountants are squirming in their chairs. But the marketing folks believe the kit will get a 7% response.

$2.00/7% = $28.57 cost per response.

If the charity can show that a new donor at that cost will stick around on average for 5 years and return $150.00 in donations, then that is a reasonable investment.

Meantime…

We are digging in for more incoming mail. Hopefully without flowers.

Thanks for reading! We do support our Vets and and respect all that they do. If you are inclined to donate to a cause, check out their website for a financial report, or visit Charity Navigator.